Famished
by Joltz
Summary: Harry Potter is changing, and not for the better. Can he find salvation before he becomes a monster? *Finished!*
1. Hungry

Title: Famished  
Rating: R, for violent content in later chapters, and some swearing.  
Summary: Harry Potter is changing, and not for the better. Can he find salvation before he becomes a monster?  
This story is inspired by M.T. Anderson's "Thirsty", and is written in a similar style.   
  
  
---  
"Who so sheddeth man's blood,  
by man shall his blood be shed."  
-Genesis 9:6  
---  
  
I don't know how it happened.  
  
It is summer again, hellish summer, when the heat is bad and the company is worse. Even though they see me as a maggot, I'm the one who cooks. I'm the one who cleans, even though I'm seen as a virus, as dirty as the flies they crush with yesterday's newspaper. I almost wish for house-elves, no matter how much Hermione would be angry with me. Then I remind myself that not even house-elves deserve to call the Dursleys 'master'.   
  
When I turned fifteen, I barely remembered it was my birthday. It had been a long day. No owls came. And the familiar, faint glow of my digital watch was much too dim to read.  
  
It was the worst birthday of my life.   
  
That summer, I felt so hungry. They weren't starving me, but they weren't feeding me enough. And even back in the second year, back when I had a bowl of soup a day, my stomach felt more peaceful. No matter how much I ate at the table, I was still hungry. No matter how much I drank, I was still thirsty. The emptiness was strange.   
  
So, on my birthday, I sat in my room, unable to sleep, pangs of hunger shuddering through my stomach, without so much as an owl of recognition from my friends. 'It's late,' I reminded myself. 'Maybe they'll come tomorrow. Maybe the owls just stopped to eat. Maybe they're just as hungry as I am.'  
  
I waited. Nothing came. I worried.  
  
I had always been hopeful. Even in the times of trial, I was always hopeful. Even after ten years of Dursley-world, I was still hopeful. Now I had no room for hope. Just worry. And hunger.   
  
The darkness was rising, both in the wizarding world and in the corners of my eyes. Two days after my birthday, and I still hadn't slept. My skin vibrated. My teeth itched. And every nerve in my body screamed for a newspaper, screamed for a letter, screamed for some sort of token from the world I called my own. I wanted to know how the fight was going. I wanted to know how my friends were.   
  
I wanted to know that they hadn't abandoned me.   
  
That assurance never came.   
  
And so I was left alone. With only my incessant thoughts. My sleepless nights.   
  
And my hunger.   
  



	2. Empty

  
It got worse.  
  
They told me to get a job. I cost them too much money, they said. I should earn my keep, they said.  
  
It had taken every strength I had not to blurt out how much money I really had. I was so very, very tired.   
  
Besides, galleons aren't worth shit to the government. It wasn't like the Dursleys would go and exchange the gold for dollars. They were afraid of magic. They were afraid of me.  
  
But I was afraid of them, too. Afraid of the belts that I knew hung in Uncle Vernon's closet. Belts that couldn't be worn because they were stained with dried blood. So I got my job. I earned my keep. And I bought food with the spare change.  
  
I had heard that when children turned into teenagers, they started to eat more. Especially boys. But I was starting to doubt what I heard now. People stared when I bought two or three Big Mac meals at McDonalds. I would take them away, where people couldn't see and stare, and I ate them all, every last bit of burger, every last fry. It felt like they never even reached my stomach. I was always hungry, always thirsty, always empty.  
  
Then, I had known that something was wrong.   
  
I was changing. But not how I was supposed to.   
  
Headaches were a constant companion now. I couldn't stand to hear people talk. They moved so clumsily, in my eyes. And they ate like pigs, disgusting pigs, chomping and gorging.  
  
I'm one to talk about gorging.   
  
But I knew what I saw, and what I felt. And even now, in the late (early, maybe?) hours of night, I lay wide awake. Thinking. Breathing. Even now I'm hungry. Especially now I'm hungry.  
  
I get up, quietly. Very quietly. Creeping along the stairs with an amount of practiced ease mixed with nervous fatigue. Entering the kitchen, just like before. I just want a sandwich. So I make one.   
  
I'm an expert at being unnoticed. I take the two pieces of bread that are farthest from the end, because Dudley likes the outside slices. I use fillings very sparingly, and only when they're plentiful. A slice of ham. A dollop of mustard. A single piece of cheese, but only the kind you slice by hand. Dudley counts the single, pre-wrapped ones. Olives sometimes. Mayonnaise always. And only use the sharp bread knife, no butter knives. It dirties too many dishes. Raises questions that I'd prefer not answer.   
  
I made my sandwich, and I moved to cut it. Then I froze.  
  
Even in the dim light of a single lamp, I could make out the reflection of the kitchen clearly on the shiny blade. The doorframe behind me. The sandwich it hovered over. There was only one problem.   
  
I wasn't there.   
  
I almost dropped the blade, but caught myself, and set it down carefully. Then moved up the stairs on automatic caution mode. I went into the bathroom, and looked in the mirror.   
  
I wasn't there, either.   
  
I tried splashing my face with water. Pinching myself. It didn't work. I was as invisible in the mirror as I was if I were wearing my cloak.  
  
But I could see my own hands, and my feet, and everything in between (thankfully). I didn't know for sure what it was, or why this was happening to me. But the pieces were coming together, and I didn't like the picture they formed.   
  
I went back to my room, not remembering the sandwich in the kitchen and what they'd do if they found it. I sat on my bed, and stared out the window at the starry sky.  
  
I'm still hungry, still thirsty. And I know I won't sleep tonight, just like I didn't sleep the night before.   
  
I'm running on empty.  
  
And I'm scared.   



	3. Underneath

Hedwig went away.   
  
It was a while ago, a little over a month, and I miss her a lot. Just a week after school got out, I opened her cage and watched her fly out into the night sky.   
  
She never came back.  
  
No other owls came, either. I think they're afraid of me.  
  
In ways, she was really the only one who understood me. A good friend. And in a time when I had no friends whatsoever, she was dearly missed.   
  
But strange things happened after she went away, too. Not magic things, but strange things. Things that scare me and excite me and intrigue me all at the same time.   
  
Someone is looking for me.  
  
I don't know who they are. They never show up in person. They just send notes, cards, invitations, letters. They invite me to gorgings, to bloodings, to feasts and midnight picnics. They say they're thrilled that I'm one of them. They think that Harry Potter is going to change the way they're thought of.   
  
I think they're vampires. And I think I'm one too.   
  
I don't know much about vampirism. We covered it in defense class, but I wasn't paying much attention. I never expected to meet a vampire, much less find one underneath my own skin.   
  
How did this happen? Was it curable? Was it something you could just ignore?  
  
No, it was not something you could just ignore. My stomach told me as much. I was getting hungrier by the day. I could feel my insides twisting like writhing snakes, the blood hunger settling in like a cancer. But I did not want to eat. Because I do know that vampires can only drink from people. I don't want to be a killer.   
  
I know what I have to do.   
  
The Dursleys are out. Shopping for formal wear. A big party tonight, I think. It gives me the time I need.  
  
I walk into the bathroom, and notice that my reflection is gone again. It does that on and off. At least no one has noticed yet. It may be a problem when I get to Hogwarts and have four roommates at my back all the time.   
  
My stomach did another flip. Hogwarts. I'd have to be expelled, I know. All the more reason to do this.   
  
A razor had found it's way into my hand. I exhaled slowly, pressed down, and tore it across the tender skin of my wrist. I gasp as the pain causes my hand to spasm, before a river of blood oozes down my open palm and drips onto the floor.   
  
I stare at the wound, hoping to die.   
  
The wound closes up. My eyes widen.  
  
And then I start to laugh.   
  
How do you kill the undead?  
  
My laughter rings off the tiled walls as I press my wrist to my lips and lap off the blood with a certain eagerness. It's warm and sticky and salty, and sits nicely in my stomach. But it isn't enough. And it isn't the kind of blood I want. I want someone else's.   
  
I sigh as I take out a washcloth from the cupboard by the sink. I'd have to clean up the blood before the Dursleys got home, or there'd be hell to pay.   
  
I don't know how much longer I can take this.  



	4. Theif

I am not a bad kid. Really, I'm not. These days, I act different. But I'm still not bad, I don't think.  
  
No, I'm not bad. I'm just hungry.   
  
I made Dudley cry yesterday. It's not uncommon. He's weak, so piggish, emotionally immature and too stupid to realize it. I was weeding the garden, and he came out to taunt me. So I told him to fuck off. I snarled at him and called him some other bad things that I don't remember. Then he started to cry.   
  
Uncle Vernon took out one of his old, unwearable belts that night. He yelled at me and hit me. Sometimes I wonder why the neighbors don't hear. He's so loud... But maybe they do hear and they don't do anything. It's a quiet neighborhood. Very old fashioned. People like to mind their own business.  
  
He hit hard, but he didn't make a scratch. It made him mad, but I was relieved. I don't know what color I bleed anymore, you see. Or even if I do.   
  
But there were bruises. Lots and lots of bruises. They covered my ribs, my upper arms, my back. You see, Vernon Dursley is an expert at hurting others. Especially me. He knew exactly where to hit me so that when I put a shirt back on, nothing would show. He made me so angry.  
  
He hit even harder than usual that night. He wanted me to bleed, but I wouldn't And I was so angry at him. He didn't know it, he just kept screaming and screaming at me, but I wasn't listening. I was watching the throbbing vein in his temple, and thinking about how easy it would be to just pounce and end all the pain.  
  
But I would never kill anyone and drink their blood. Not even the Dursleys.  
  
Besides, Uncle Vernon's blood is probably sour.  
  
The rest of the night I spent in the kitchen, a bar of soap in my mouth. It wasn't so bad, really. It could have been Aunt Petunia's cooking.  
  
I joke now, but it scares me. I can't eat anymore, not any of their foods. They repulse me, the grease and the seasoning and the charred bones of dead animals. I've started to spend the quiet hours of night vomiting up the evening meal. And I'm so hungry.   
  
I know what I have to do. I really, really know what I have to do.  
  
So one night, I do it.  
  
The next morning, it's all over the news. A hospital, a small muggle hospital, was broken into in the dead hours of night. Nothing was stolen, and no one was harmed. The only thing amiss were the packets from the blood drive held earlier that week. They were shredded, drained of their contents. The authorities believe that some sort of wild animal got in. They've no proof otherwise. All over Surrey, hospitals have increased night security. It wouldn't happen again.  
  
I slept for the first time in weeks that night, but after seeing the news, I felt much more uneasy.   
  
I don't want to kill anyone, but I can take the blood meant to save their lives.  
  
I lick my lips. I can still taste it.  
  
The blood had been sanitized. It was cold. It was devoid of any flavor whatsoever. It was like eating gruel at a table filled with turkeys.   
  
I drank as much as I could hold.  
  
I can't justify my actions, but I'm full now. For a little while, at least.   
  
No, I'm not a bad kid.  
  
I'm a vampire.   
  



	5. Predator

I finally met one last night.  
  
Her name is Madeline LeMastre Veiracque DeTrepere. But I may call her Madeline.   
  
I had snuck out that night. It was another sleepless morning, barely past midnight. The air was dark and warm, like fresh blood.  
  
Blood. Everything is like blood lately.   
  
She was in the park up the street. Waiting for someone. Waiting for me.  
  
I didn't ask how she knew that I'd be here. I was afraid of the answer, and I was even more afraid of her. But then she smiled at me, and I stopped being scared. I was a little relieved that she didn't have fangs.   
  
She gestured to the bench next to her, and I sat down. "Hello," I said, not at all sure of myself.  
  
She smiles again. "Hello, Harry Potter." Then she introduces herself. "I am Madeline LeMastre Veiracque DeTrepere." She says, putting a French accent on each part.  
  
"That's a long name," I say stupidly.  
  
She looks at me, but not like I'm an idiot. She looks concerned. "Yes, it is." She concedes.  
  
We are both silent for a moment. My mind is buzzing too loudly for me to think. I know I'm being stupid, because I have so many questions that need answers. To my surprise, she asks the first question.  
  
"How did you know that I am a vampire?" She asks.   
  
I shrug. I just knew. I tell her so.  
  
"Look closer." She says.  
  
So I look at her. She looks around 19, maybe 20 years old, with raven black hair cascading over her shoulders and a serious look to her face. She is very pretty. But there is something else...   
  
Her figure, her body, it seemed bordered with black outlines. Dark, thickly drawn outlines. Like some sort of comic book character.   
  
"We're all like this." She gestures to the air around her, and she knows I see them too.   
  
I am silent again, but Madeline doesn't seem to mind. She is patient.  
  
"How did this happen to me?" I blurt out.  
  
She purses her lips and looks at me thoughtfully. "I don't know. It could be genetic, latent until it got to your generation, or it could have been a bite, or it could have just-" She searches for the words, "-cropped up. Like magic in muggle families." She pauses again, and I can see her eyebrows arched in thought. She really was pretty. "Though I doubt it was in your family blood. Your cousin would probably also be experiencing it if that were so." She spreads her arms in a gesture of defeat. "Alas, I can only guess."  
  
She smiles. "You were the one who pulled that stunt at the hospital a week ago. Very clever. Most vampire cubs die of starvation before we find them."   
  
Though it's not cold, I shiver. She doesn't notice.   
  
Her voice, carefree since the start, suddenly turns stern. "You will have to be the predator soon, Harry Potter. You will have to kill. We will stand by you, offer you support and teach you the best ways to hunt. But you will have to leave behind everything you love. Your friends. Your school. Your life."  
  
"No!" I cry, angry and helpless.   
  
She nods. "Yes." Her voice goes from stern to hard and cold. "They will not accept you, Harry. They will not accept a vampire. Because if you're a vampire and you're alive, than you have killed a human. And even if you keep stealing from hospitals, they will not believe you. Or they will fine you. Imprison you. They'll make it so that you have to kill, and then they'll go an eye for an eye." She leans in close, her eyes intense. "There is nothing like a stake being pounded between your ribs, straight into your heart. I have seen it happen before. There is nothing like being publicly executed, and watching the people you once called friends cheer as the stake is driven home. They always cheer. Better to look cold and heartless than to look like an assistant to a killer." Her voice breaks as she finishes, and I reach over to comfort her. She brushes my hand off her shoulder and stands.  
  
"And thus ends our meeting. Learn to kill properly, or they will kill you. Goodnight, Harry Potter."   
  
And she disappeared, leaving me alone with my thoughts.  
  
Twenty-four hours later, and I'm still thinking. My problem is that I don't know what to think.   
  
My professors, my classmates, my friends. They'd never betray me like that.  
  
Or would they?  
  
Maybe some of them would, but I do know one thing. I will not kill.   
  
I am many things, but I am not a predator.  



	6. Prey

I ignored what Madeline said, and I wrote Ron.  
  
Hedwig had come back that night, moving nervously, as if she was afraid of me. She came in, and I wrote a short letter, and she left fast.   
  
In the letter, I told him about my vampirism, my growing hunger, and my lack of control. I wanted him to help me.  
  
He didn't write me back. He told the ministry. And they came for me.  
  
Fudge led the troop of aurors to the house, scaring the Dursleys stupid. It scared me too. I tried to run, but they caught me. They chain me up and drag me out to a sort of magical squadcar, then throw me in the back. Fudge rides shotgun.  
  
Fudge is still mad at me about the tournament, I can tell. And I don't think he's going to give my life a second thought. When I ask him who knows about this, he smiles sickly. "Everyone." I am furious, because he looks so happy. I ask him where he's taking me. His smile fades a bit. "Azkaban. A dementor free cell block." The change in his expression confuses me. Either my life does matter, or he's upset that I won't be around dementors. I think the latter, but I am not sure.  
  
The car hits an uncrowded safe road, and the car disappears with a 'pop'. It reappears in front of a cold, aged castle. Azkaban.   
  
Reporters are there. They are watching me closely. Yelling questions for me to answer. "Mister Potter, when did this happen?", "Mister Potter, have you killed anyone yet?", "Any feelings, Mister Potter?"   
  
'Yes', I think silently. 'I am feeling scared out of my mind'. But I say nothing. They are craning for a look at my teeth to see if they are fangs. I know they are because I can feel them, sharp and pointy, retracting in my mouth. My body knows I'm hungry, and it can sense all the prey nearby, so my teeth respond in kind.   
  
I will not answer, because I don't want them to see my teeth. I don't want them to see what a disgrace I am. I will not let them make a monster of me.   
  
Cameras flash, and I involuntarily snarl and start snapping at the crowd, like a dog might snap at a mouse he's caught. They gasp as one and draw back, and the flashes increase.   
  
Then I am taken inside, and instantly I'd rather be with the reporters because of how depressing the air around me feels. I am thrown and locked in a cold and windowless cell, and I know I cannot escape.  
  
Madeline was right. I should have become the predator. Instead, now I am the prey.  
  
I put my head in my hands and cry.  
  
My tears are black.   
  



	7. Forsaken

First, a few words about this fanfic.   
This originally was going to be the last part, following two chapters which I never posted. I didn't like the way those chapters turned out, so I completely omitted them and re-wrote this whole chapter so it would make sense without the others. I hope this ties up any loose ends.  
There is one part of this story, however, I left open and unanswered. That being Madeline's role. I assure you that she was not simply a plot device. I have already started a prequel/sequel (some of it in the past, some of it taking place during this story, and some of it after) about her and Harry, which may or may not get finished or posted. It may suprise some of you how much of a role she played in this whole thing, even though she only showed up breifly in one chapter.   
Finally, I'd like to remind you of the R rating, because this is the chapter that needs it. It's very violent and gory, just to warn you.  
Thank you for being patient enough to wait for this installment, and thanks for all the positive feedback.  
-J  
---------------------------  
Chapter 7: Forsaken  
---------------------------  
  
I did not think they would let me stave to death in that cell block, and I was right.  
  
They decided to kill me instead.  
  
I don't remember much of what Fudge said to me then. I was so weak and so hungry, not as bad as now but still bad. They had to, he said. To put a stop to the evil abomination that were vampires, and to prove to the public that we weren't some cute gag for haunted houses. Something about lawsuits, and jokes going too far, and I think about those blood lollipops and wish I had one.   
  
Dumbledore was there, too. He looked sad, and mad. I think at Fudge. It made me feel bad. I never wanted to cause so much trouble for him.   
  
I don't know what happened after that, but the guards gave me blood mixed with something, and then I woke up in different place.   
  
I barely had time to look around before they shoved me through a door, and lights flashed everywhere, and I cried out in pain as they blinded me.   
  
Ron was there too.  
  
He was crying, crying so hard his shoulders shook. "Harry, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! It was an accident! I got the letter and tried to owl dad, but they were doing mail checks that day and I didn't know, and God, I'm so sorry!" I try to reach out to him, but the aurors push him away. I blink my eyes cautiously, and I freeze all up.   
  
There is a table, and shackles. And a guy in black, like a hooded death eater.  
  
He has a mallet and a stake.  
  
I suddenly feel very aware, and my mind clears. This...this is where they're going to kill me? In front of all these people?   
  
"Harry Potter." Fudge's voice rings clear. "You have been sentenced to death by a jury for your crimes against humanity. Do you have any last words?"   
  
I find my voice. "Yes."   
  
Fudge looks startled. I think that it was just formality for him to ask that, but he recovered and said, "Proceed."   
  
I decide that I will not pretend to be the bloodsucking Jesus, but the words leave my mouth before I can stop them. "He who has no sin may cast the first stone."  
  
"Yes, well," Fudge sneers at me, and I feel rage course through me. "Is that all, Potter?"   
  
"No." I say thickly, and the crowd gasps as they see my fangs. But I don't care. I can think now, and it's a blessed change from my muddled thoughts before. "You and your politics! Go ahead and kill me! See what difference it'll make! You all might as well be vampires, with your cameras and your goddamn public execution! I might suck blood, but at least I was humble about it, at least I hated every second of it. Look at you, reveling in my death! Watching it like a show! You make me sick, you monsters! I'm not hell-bound, no more than you!   
  
The crowd bellows in rage, but then someone stands. I do a double take, and see Dumbledore's face, and I feel relieved.   
  
"No. Vampires are not necessarily hell-bound." His voice cuts through the crowd.   
  
"Albus Dumbledore! Sit down!" Fudge yells, but Dumbledore doesn't listen.  
  
"Cornelius Fudge, do you realize what you're doing?!" Dumbledore explodes, and the crowd is stunned to silence. "He has not killed anyone! We could help him, we could save him! But you hold a grudge, so the boy will die. Look at him, Cornelius! He grew up with the muggle ghost stories, glorifying vampirism! He's seen those novelty blood pops every trip he takes to Hogsmeade! He's seen the T.V. shows and the books and the propaganda of fascination with the vampire at least a thousand times! Even given all that, he still can't succumb to bloodlust with a guilt-free conscience. He is innocent, Fudge, and you know it! And you will have his blood on your hands, and I hope that you can't sleep at night because of it. No Cornelius, he is not hell-bound, but you most certainly are!"  
  
"Enough!" Shouts Fudge, his cheeks blotched pink with rage. "Albus Dumbledore, you are out of order! Remove him!" Aurors jostle him out the door, and I feel my heart sink. Fudge turns towards me. "Harry Potter, is that all?!"   
  
I nod slowly. Fudge takes deep breaths to calm himself.  
  
"Commence with the execution!" The crowd cheers at those words. After all, it's what they came here to see. The reporters ready their cameras for some gory shots to put in their papers. I hate them all. I hate them I hate them I hate them!  
  
The aurors grasp my arms and shove me on a table, shackling down my hands without hesitation. My fangs are sliding in and out, and I'm trying to keep a grip on reality. Panic and insanity are all around me. Inside of me. The masked executioner steps forward with a mallet and a stake, and I remember what Madeline said when we met.   
  
'There is nothing like a stake being pounded between your ribs, straight into your heart.'  
  
I am going to die here.   
  
Oh God oh God oh God...  
  
He positions the stake on my trembling chest. Then he swings the mallet down.  
  
'THWAM!'  
  
Blood. Everywhere. There is nothing more gruesome than looking down and seeing your own insides.   
  
Oh God! Save me! Save me!  
  
I must have said it out loud, because the crowd jeers. If you have a God, then where is he? You are forsaken, Harry Potter.   
  
You are forsaken.  
  
The mallet comes down again with another thwam. The pain is almost unbearable, and I scream and feel ashamed. The blood soaks through my clothing, and I want to drink it. I strain to get to it but I am chained too tightly. The crowd laughs, but I hear sobbing coming from some people. I don't care. I am hungry. Oh God! I'm so hungry!   
  
Another hit. The stake is too big. One rib cracks, the other shatters. I scream with the pain. Blood, so much blood. It is running out of my mouth now, and I cough it out and lap it off my chin. I am just screaming and screaming and bleeding all over. I feel sick. And so fucking hungry.   
  
"Fuck you! Fuck you all!" I scream, blood spraying from my mouth. Bits of bone fly at my sudden jerk of movement. Blood is starting to pool around me. The cameras in the audience flash brightly in my eyes. I swear again, and the executioner hits me in the mouth and laughs as a fang pierces through my own cheek. There are screams from the crowd. I gargle, choking on the broken teeth and blood as it pools in my mouth. I swallow hard and I instantly crave more.   
  
God help me! God help me!   
  
I'm famished Lord! I'm famished! I'm so fucking hungry!  
  
I try to breath, but I cannot.   
  
The mallet hits the side of my throat, busting an artery. Blood sprays.   
  
The stake is driven in further. Muscle pulls apart, tears apart. It hurts. God, it hurts!   
  
Cruel laughter burns my ears, and I wish I killed someone when I had the chance.   
  
But I am no killer. I am not forsaken. And I will not give them the pleasure of thinking so. I close my eyes and stop screaming. I am afraid. But I am proud. And brave.   
  
"Goodbye, mongrel." The man in black whispers, and I know the voice. Lucius Malfoy.  
  
I shudder and I speak, my voice frighteningly clear. "The quality of mercy is not strain'd; It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven, Upon the palace beneath. It is twice blest: It blesseth him that gives and him that takes." I wonder how, with so much blood gone and the state of my mouth and throat, I am able to quote Shakespeare. Then I remember that I am not human.   
  
He draws back in surprise. And he hesitates. But he does not stop.   
  
He pounds the blow in deep.  
  
I scream.  
  
  
  
  
---------------------------------  
"O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?"  
-I Corinthians, 15:55  
--------------------------------- 


End file.
